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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049398">Can't See the Sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite'>foggynite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Invisible Groping, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Rimming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:35:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The advantages of being invisible are lost in the dark.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Jekyll/Rodney Skinner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Can't See the Sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written sometime pre-2005.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s supposed to be giving a report to the Captain and Agent Sawyer. They’re sitting at the Nautilus’ conference table, shuffling maps and notes and he’s supposed to be talking about the autopsy he performed on the oddly mutilated body the London office sent them.</p><p>Agent Skinner is not supposed to be there. Agent Skinner is not supposed to be hiding his invisible self under the table and running his hands up the inside of Dr. Jekyll’s thighs.</p><p>He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m afraid I found nothing con-conclu-“</p><p>His voice breaks and now they’re looking at him oddly. He can’t help the flush of color to his cheeks. Agent Skinner is not supposed to be kneading Dr. Jekyll’s groin.</p><p>He covers his slip by coughing again and reaching for his glass of water. A small sip as he surreptitiously slides his other hand under the table, flicking his fingers sharply at the supposedly thin air in front of his crotch.</p><p>“I found nothing conclusive, gentlemen. The report from London is that the victim was stabbed to death, but I found what look like bite patterns. Animal bite patterns, suggesting that he fell prey to a dog. A fairly large one at that. But as it was in the middle of the city, I don’t see how a dog could have done that without there being any witnesses.”</p><p>Not his most coherent report, but-- Skinner’s hands are resting on his knees now, warmth from his palms soaking through Jekyll’s thin cotton pants. Humid heat near his crotch, the stirring of a breath, and Jekyll’s leg gives an involuntary twitch.</p><p>“Well,” Sawyer says with his hoarse voice, “I don’t think the London bureau is being completely up front. If they thought he was just another stabbing victim, they wouldn’t have called us in.”</p><p>“Perhaps Agent Skinner has more information now,” Captain Nemo suggests. </p><p>His knowing dark eyes settle on Jekyll with a smirk, and Henry really doesn’t want to know how much the older man knows, because honestly. These things just aren’t done. But then, the life they live, a lot of things get done that aren’t even supposed to be possible.</p><p>“I’d like to know where he ran off to,” Sawyer frowns. “Is he back onboard yet?”</p><p>Jekyll can’t speak, so he looks innocently at the Captain, and clenches the edges of his seat to keep his hands from doing unseemly things. </p><p>Nemo has a neutral expression on his face now, bland as can be, when he responds, “I believe he came back on right after lunch, Agent Sawyer. If that’s all of your report, Doctor, would you be so kind as to track him down for us? Let him know we would like to confer with him?”</p><p>Definitely a knowing look, and he’s so glad that Sawyer’s clueless and Harker’s holed up in her lab doing tests on the chemicals they found. He somehow nods and pushes away from the table, grabbing his stack of notes to hold protectively in front of himself when he stands.</p><p>“Yes, Captain. I’ll be sure to tell him, sir.” He clears his throat, happy for once that his usual awkwardness deflects suspicion. “Good day, gentlemen.”</p><p>Debating whether he’s angry or not, he strides down the hallway with a glower. He honestly thought that Rodney would be more circumspect than that but apparently the special agent is—</p><p>Pulling him into an empty room before he can protest. He has the impression of a wardrobe and the corner of a bed in the grey hallway light before the door’s knocked shut behind them, sealing them off in the darkness. That’s fine for him. In the dark, they’re equal.</p><p>Rodney’s plaintive voice comes inches from his face. “You almost poked my eye out back there--”</p><p>“Are you insane?” The words explode out of his mouth before he thinks to lower his voice. “Who’s room is this anyway?“</p><p>“You worry too much, doc.” The other man is obviously smirking, and he can just imagine the twist of Skinner’s mouth. He’s grateful there’s no light, because the thought of that expression alone is enough to make him hard and Rodney doesn’t need to see him blush again.</p><p>“And you, sir, are a pervert and a lunatic and taking far too many risks—“</p><p>Skinner effectively cuts off his diatribe by pressing him against the wall. His case notes flutter to the floor, forgotten, and he can’t suppress a moan as he suddenly has an armful of naked Rodney, scorching heat along his body and everywhere he touches is bare skin.</p><p>“For one, mate,” Rodney pauses to lick from the top of his collar to his ear, “this room’s not in use. Trust me to know every corner of this place by now. And two…”</p><p>Hands are tugging at his shirt, pulling it from his trousers, and he presses his head back against the wall, presses hard until it hurts, because a warm hand is flicking open his trousers, sliding in to grasp his stiff cock and lightly stroke it.</p><p>“...And two, you like me perverted.” Breathed against his mouth before he’s being kissed, sloppy and wet and carnal. This is what being out of control feels like. This is what it is like to have Hyde whispering in his ear, and the brute is being surprisingly quiet.</p><p>He has to stifle a grin at the thought that Hyde is afraid to interfere because it might just turn Jekyll off having a sex life entirely. Not that Hyde would be so considerate. A low rumble in the back of his mind, like a lion mid-pounce, but it’s drowned out by the electric white pleasure arcing through his brain.</p><p>Rodney’s hand is pushing lower, cupping his balls and rolling them between his fingers, index finger sliding behind them, putting just enough pressure on the soft skin. High-pitched gasps are being torn from his throat and he bites his lip to keep from babbling a thousand things he’ll regret. His hands are clutching frantically at Rodney now, holding the other man’s hips, tugging at his cock, grabbing his ass and trying to pull him closer. He just needs—needs to get closer and he can’t, otherwise he’d be crawling into Rodney’s skin and in the dark he’s hyper aware of every touch, every breath, until their breathing fuses together in his mind, single heartbeat, single body.</p><p>Calloused fingers around his cock, just enough friction to be perfect, and his trousers are around his ankles now, his shirt half unbuttoned, and the wall is cold against his ass. When Rodney moves his hand to his hips, he almost whimpers at the loss because he’s so damn hard, but he refuses to beg for it. Then he’s being urged to turn around, and he’s leaning against the cold wall on his elbows, flushed cheek resting against his forearms. His bare stomach is chilled now that Rodney isn’t pressing against him, and his back muscles are tense as the other man lazily strokes along his spine under his shirt. Even the soft cotton feels harsh against his sensitized skin, and the only concession he makes is to squirm a little.</p><p>He ignores Rodney’s smug chuckle because those calloused fingers are trailing lower, over the swell of his buttocks and down into his cleft. He bites the arm in front of his face to keep from moaning when Rodney cups his ass with both hands, thumbs rubbing over his entrance and just… spreading him open. Wonderful feeling of being exposed and stretched, and Rodney’s hands are sweaty and hot and god, he loves those hands.</p><p>A shift in the angle of Rodney’s grip and he realizes the other man is kneeling now. Takes a breath to ask him what he’s doing but all his mental functions stutter to a halt at the first wet swipe of a roughly textured tongue along his cleft. His chest is tight; it hurts to breathe. Little licks to his opening, teasing but making his lungs start working again with a horrible wrench, and he’s near sobbing through his nose because he’s biting down so hard on his arm.</p><p>When Rodney’s tongue stiffens and darts into him, pushes in with a breathtaking feeling of invasion, he has to move, he can’t not move. His hips start rocking back and forth, steel hard cock bouncing against the wall in his enthusiasm. Harsh pants and sweat dripping down his face, and he rolls back harder, wanting more, wanting to be laid open by this man. Slick wet sounds as they move together and Rodney’s hands leave his ass, one sliding forward to grip his cock again as his tongue keeps plundering. Three hard jerks later and his vision’s whiting out, heartbeat thundering in his head, muscles tense and straining. His cock pulses against the wall, splattering it with come, and he finally removes his mouth from his arm so he can drag in a lungful of air.</p><p>His limbs are shaking as he sinks down to the floor, kneeling on his fallen notes and mindful of the mess on the wall. Rodney’s breath is evening out behind him and he reaches blindly back, encountering a smooth thigh with a light-dusting of hairs. He strokes the sweat-clammy skin and slides higher, a question in his touch.</p><p>“M’good, doc. Took care of meself.” Disembodied voice smug and happy, and Henry doesn’t care that he’s smirking. When he has to try repeatedly to speak again, it’s for entirely different reasons than earlier.</p><p>“I don’t suppose there’s a light source around here? I’m afraid I made a bit of a mess.”</p><p>Ignoring his question, heavy arms circle around him and a flushed cheek rests against his back. He can never bring himself to initiate such contact, but it soothes something in his lonely soul to be able to lean into Rodney’s warmth.</p><p>But then he has to stand and pull away so that he can arrange his clothing once more. The lights go on and to anyone passing through it would seem like he’s alone, except for the floating white mess around thigh height. He coughs and nods towards Rodney’s leg, then turns to clean off the marks on the utilitarian steel wall with his handkerchief. He bends down and gathers his notes, shuffling them into something remotely resembling order before he turns back around to a supposedly empty room.</p><p>When they leave the room silently, he knows that he will continue on to his bunk and Skinner will go back to his own for face paint and a trench coat. They’ll carry on through the day and work on this latest case, and when nighttime comes, they’ll retire to their separate cabins.</p><p>But when his door opens seemingly of its own accord in the dead of night, and a warm body crawls between his sheets, he’ll keep the lights off and just breathe.</p>
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